Who was the person who wrote these notes? Surely not the cold, silent man who met me at the jetty? Suddenly the warmth of the kitchen had felt constricting. I thought I’d be in an impersonal B&B, the choice that felt appropriate when I booked it. Being invited to stay here with them has made me feel such a mix of emotions. I’m greedy to see every detail of my brother’s life, and staying here means being closer to my brother, my niece and my sister-in-law. But as Alice asked polite questions about the journey it felt all at once too much and I wished myself outside, able to be alone.
Now, I take a deep breath of salty air, hands on my hips. And I start to run again. After the beach I join the track, sidestepping dips and rocks until I reach the smoother main road. It’s good to be moving, my heart pounding and my breath quickening.
But once I’m on the road I feel more conspicuous than I ever do in London. The road is visible from most of the houses on this side of the island. As I head along it in the opposite direction from the harbour and the village, I spot a few people in their gardens. They look up as I pass, but I try to keep running with my head down. Word must have spread that I’m back for the funeral. It’s a small island after all and I felt that buzz of curiosity when we arrived at the harbour. What must these islanders be saying about me behind closed doors?She left and never came back. She hasn’t even met her own niece. She’s a mainlander now, thinks she’s too good for this island. She didn’t even come back when her parents were dying.
I speed up, pumping my arms and focusing on springing forcefully from the ground. The faster I run, the less I’m able to think. When I run fast like this I feel more in my body than in my mind. For the brief moment I’m able to sustain this speed, I am free. When I start struggling to breathe I slow again to a jog.
I can’t stop thinking about the house I’ve just escaped. Alice is doing her best to make me feel welcome, I can tell. But will Jack ever speak to me? Let alone forgive me for my absence throughout the years. I may have sent letters that never received replies, but I could have tried harder. I picture him earlier, standing at the jetty waiting for me, his eyes exactly the same as I remember even if the rest of his face has changed over time. While I was in the kitchen with Alice I couldn’t help glancing out the window, trying to catch just a glimpse of Jack. After so long apart even a small sight of him is something. But every time I did see him – his figure stooped slightly as he crossed one of the fields – my heart ached. I wanted to reach out towards him, just like I did when we sat in the car earlier and I thought how easy it would be to lean forwards and place my hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of the living breathing him, not just a memory. I knew that coming back here would be hard. But even then, I’m surprised by the extent of this pain. My stomach churns, my eyes sting, a weight presses against my temples. I feel pain in my entire body. I run faster.
The sound of barking makes me turn and look across to a whitewashed crofter’s cottage set back slightly from the lane. An Old English sheepdog jumps up and down behind the picket fence that encircles the cottage garden. Rex, I remember Brenda calling him.
‘Hi there!’ comes a deep voice. A man balances on a ladder propped up against the cottage. There’s a toolbox beneath him on the grass and he leans against the roof tiles, seemingly fixing a drainpipe that hangs from the wall. An elderly couple peer out of one of the cottage windows, watching the ladder and the man on it closely.
The man wears jeans and a grey fisherman’s jumper and I recognise him suddenly as the man who was working in the harbour when we arrived earlier. At the same time, I realise that my face is damp. I haven’t been crying, have I? But as I wipe my cheeks with one hand there they are, droplets streaking my face. Mortified at the thought of this stranger seeing me cry, I turn away from the cottage and keep running, head down.
‘I’m Mallachy, nice to meet you too,’ comes the same deep voice behind me. But I don’t turn back.
I don’t stop running until the road becomes another track, sloping up towards the northern edge of the island. The white beacon of the old lighthouse is visible on the edge of the cliff, its tumbling-down old lighthouse-keeper’s cottage squatting beside it. The cottage has been abandoned for years, ever since the light became automated decades ago. I head towards it now, up through the field that is thick with grass and wildflowers.
Eventually, I make it to the lighthouse. God, I remember this view. Below, grey cliffs crash downwards into the sea, the water here a completely different beast to the calm, lapping waves at the beach by Hilly Farm. Here the water rages, beating against rocks far below, rising in huge foam-tipped waves and falling again with a vicious slapping sound. Further out to sea looms the mountainous silhouette of Caora Island, now home only to birds and the island’s namesake – sheep.
I reach for my phone in the back pocket of my leggings. Thankfully I’ve got signal for the first time since arriving on the island. I immediately type a message to Cheryl.
Safely arrived on the island. Ella and Molly have clicked straight away. Things harder with my brother. His wife is lovely though. Missing you xx
Cheryl’s reply comes a few seconds later.
We miss you too!! (We = me and Frankie, who is making a mess of his tea right now.)
Accompanying the text is a picture of Cheryl crouched next to Frankie’s highchair. His face is smeared in sweet potato. Both Frankie and Cheryl are grinning.
I look up from my phone and out to sea. Cheryl and Frankie might be right there on my phone screen, but standing here on the edge of the cliff I find it hard to even picture London. It’s just so far removed from the view in front of me – the cliffs and the waves and the abandoned island in the distance. For a terrifying second it feels almost as though London and the life I’ve made for myself there don’t exist at all. I’m a child again, stuck on this island surrounded by sea, unable to leave.
This lighthouse is one of the places I used to come when I was young and needed to get away from home. Sometimes Sarah and I would come together, climbing the hill and breaking in to the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. We’d eat sandwiches on the cliff edge or in the dilapidated front room of the cottage if it was raining. But often I’d come here alone. I remember I came here the night of the fire. My hair still smelt of smoke and my eyes stung with ash and tears. That night I stood closer to the cliff edge than I ever had before, even though it was dark and the wind was strong. I think back to the dream I had on the train. The smell of smoke was so strong in my mind, even after all this time.
My phone pings. Another message from Cheryl.
Just give it time. Thinking of you xxx
Can any amount of time really make up for twenty-two years apart? The thought of everything I’ve missed in my brother’s life hits me with the force of the waves beating the cliffs below me. I missed his eighteenth birthday. I missed his twenty-first. When he first met Alice. When he moved from the house we grew up in to Hilly Farm, turning it back into a farm again after all the years it stood derelict. His wedding. The birth of Molly. His first grey hair.
The choice I made all those years ago was rooted in self-preservation. At the time, leaving everything behind felt like the only option. The only way to create my own life. The only way to survive. But as I stand beside the lighthouse, knowing it’s nearly time to head back to the farm and dreading seeing my brother again and yet yearning for it in equal measures, I am torn apart by the choice that I once made. Facing the sea, I open my mouth wide and roar. Everything empties out of my lungs in a wild cry. It’s a wail that I have probably been supressing for years. There’s no space for this kind of emotion in London. In our small flat Ella and I hear each other’s slightest movements. And our home is surrounded on all sides by other unknown lives.
I howl until my throat hurts. But the wind is stronger and snatches my voice away. Below, the waves crash relentlessly against the cliffs.
Chapter 10
Alice
‘I was hoping you’d come to the village with me today.’
I’m alone with Lorna again, Jack out in the fields and Molly and Ella heading out earlier this morning on bicycles to meet Olive. Ella seems to have slipped easily into their friendship and I must admit I’m relieved. I knew how excited Molly was to meet her cousin but I also know how close she and Olive are; I didn’t want Ella to feel left out. But they’ve quickly formed a tight group. It’s lovely to see them together. Their closeness and contentment highlight the tensions in the rest of the house though. Dinner last night was strained to say the least. I couldn’t bear the silence between Jack and Lorna, so filled it with chatter, knowing as I spoke that I must have seemed ridiculous but not able to stop myself. Lorna went to bed not long after the girls. She must have been tired from the journey but I’m sure she also felt overwhelmed.
‘You could try a bit harder,’ I said to Jack once we were on our own, careful not to let my words carry.
‘So could she,’ he snapped back.
‘Do you realise how childish you sound?’
